The Accidental Time Traveller (12 page)

A white strip of light swung around inside the den. Someone was in there with a torch. My heart galloped like a bolting horse. The hacking cough came again. My face was pressed up against the side of the shed. Let it not be Crow. Let it be an old tramp. Or Will. Or Robbie.

I couldn’t blink, couldn’t run away. I felt frozen with fear. I couldn’t see anything. All I could hear was the booming of my heart. Then I heard a voice. “Kinda creepy in here, Crow, eh? Good for me you’re here.” I knew that voice. It was Kyle, one of Crow’s slaves. He was the one coughing. I slunk down behind the door, pulling Agatha down too. My mind raced. Now what?

Telepathy would come in handy. I pressed a finger to my lips, hoping like mad Agatha understood. She clamped her mouth shut. Frantically I pointed to the door. Agatha nodded, then folded her hands together like she was praying.

I couldn’t believe this was happening. The thing I’d worried about for months had come true. Crow had discovered the den and, even worse, he was in it. Maybe he followed the footprints? He’d roped in a bit of company. I held my breath and listened.

“Kinda creepy, Crow, eh? Like, hey, really creepy.” Kyle had another coughing fit.

Probably Crow had seen Agatha’s dress, and the ewok. Probably he’d ripped the ears off Fred and read our graffiti names on the back of the door. My heart was thumping. What was he up to?

Kyle was still mumbling on, “Yeah, Crow, like, seriously spooksville, Crow, eh?”

Then I heard a rustle in the den. Footsteps scuffed over the dirt floor.

“Shut up Kyle.” That was Crow. I saw the torch beam lurch. Someone was heading for the door. Crow probably. The beam of torch light swayed like a drunk.

I didn’t move. I heard the doorknob creak. Agatha looked like she was still praying. The door opened. I slunk down, trying to disappear into the shadows. Agatha was as still as a stone.

The torch beam swung out into the fog. For a second everything was silent. I could hear Crow breathe. Then a heavy footstep crunched down right next to me. The light glared into my face. I blinked but didn’t move.

“Hey, look who’s here? Check that, Kyle? It’s the wee gang chief. Snooping round all on his lonesome in the dark, eh? Come to visit my den. Ha!”

A scream clamoured through my brain. Aaaagh! Help!

“Hey, wee gang chief.” Crow bent close. I could smell the smoke on his breath. I had my eyes closed but could see the glare of the torch through my eyelids. “You can make a choice,” he growled. “Yeah, seeing as how it’s nearly Christmas, me and Kyley-boy here’s
gonna be generous. Cause we’re good like that, ain’t we, Kyley-boy?”

“Yeah, too right, Crow,” Kyle said, “we’re really nice.”

“Yeah, nice, that’s right, see. Me and Kyley-boy here could heat up the place a bit.” Crow laughed. “One match and this wonky place is history. Or…,” he paused, “we could tie you to a tree and leave you to spend a night in ghostville. Wooo-ooo!” Kyle laughed hysterically. “Or I could be super nice and just let you go home to Mummy, then this shed’s mine and if you ever come back here I’ll break every window in your silly wee house. Make a choice, nerd.”

I was still crouched down by the side of the shed. I felt the toe of Crow’s boot nudge me in the ribs. I gasped. His choices ran round my head. They hadn’t spotted Agatha beyond me. So if Crow did tie me up, Agatha could untie me. That way I’d get to keep the den. He flicked a lighter and a spark shot up. “Hope you’re thinking fast, big chief. Bonfire? Night in the dark? Or I take over?” He laughed that horrible, mean laugh. “What’s it to be?”

Then something happened to me. I felt this weird shift inside. It was like that blue clenched fist in my gut opened, and turned hot and red. How dare Crow come here? How dare he?

I shot a look up. With the torch on his face Crow looked evil. Kyle was tucked in behind him somewhere. Quickly I rolled my eyes to the side. Agatha had completely disappeared. I don’t know how, but she’d managed to wriggle away. So I took a risk. Agatha would help me. I knew she would.

“So you two know about this place being haunted?” I was still crouched down but my voice came out steady.

“You and the ghosts together, all night long.
Wooooooo
!” Crow laughed again. “If you don’t die of fright, you’ll die of the cold, in’t that right, Kyley-boy?”

But Kyley-boy just whimpered.

“I can’t believe you dared to come here on your own.” What was I saying? It was like all my fear had switched into courage. I wasn’t even twelve yet. Crow was fourteen. But I hated feeling scared like that. All the months I’d felt scared of Crow, all the times I’d crossed over the road, or hid, just to avoid him – I was sick of it. “Yeah,” I went on, lifting myself up a bit, “the ghosts here know me. They protect me. But they don’t know you. They won’t be too happy being disturbed. They’re used to me. We have an understanding.”

Crow laughed again, but there was something in his laugh that was unsure. I could hear it. Good old Agatha must have heard it too. Just at that moment there was a scratching sound behind Crow and Kyle in the den, like someone rubbing two stones together. She must have sneaked in as the boys came out.

“That’s one of them,” I said. “It’s the ghost of the old man who lived in the big house here. It sounds like he’s in the den. He looks after me, that one.”

Agatha made a horrible squeaky noise. She was a better actor than I’d expected. She sounded like a pig being strangled. If I didn’t know it was her, I’d be petrified, but by this time I was beginning to enjoy myself. I got to my feet.

“What do you think he’s saying?” I asked.

Crow’s face didn’t look too happy. He stepped back, stood on Kyle’s foot and Kyle yelped. Inside the den there was a louder squeal.

I planted my hands on my hips, like I was some
cowboy
in a film, “That ghost hates the kind of person who’d threaten a kid,” I said pointing into the den. “Yeah, he told me he was bullied when he was young. That was two hundred years ago. But now he’s dead, he’s got nothing to fear, does he? If he meets a bully, he takes his revenge.” Crow seemed to be shrinking before my eyes. Kyle was whimpering like a dog and clutching onto Crow’s elbow, trying to pull him away. “But we can do a deal,” I said. “If you leave now, I’ll tell the ghost not to come after you and haunt your dreams. He’s not sounding too happy.” It was true: the next screech from inside the den was even more desperate. “I’d leave quick if I was you.”

“Yeah,” cried Kyle. “Come on, Crow, let’s split.”

Crow grunted and pushed Kyle away. “It’s your wee side-kicks,” he shouted, banging the shed door back with his foot. He spun round and flashed his torch into the den. “That’s what it–”

He screamed – screamed like something was choking him. He must have seen something horrifying. He staggered back like he was going to fall, but righted himself, swung round and bolted away, with Kyle trying to clutch hold of him.

I heard them both yell as they scrambled through the gap in the hedge. I watched the torch beam jerk up and down as they fled over the snow-covered wasteland, howling into the distance. I watched until the little light was gone, swallowed up in the fog.

My knees buckled. The awful squeals had stopped. I slid down the side of the shed to the ground and started shaking. I couldn’t believe what I had done. I’d got away with it. Crow would never bully me again, and he’d never come back to the den, and it wasn’t set on fire, and I wasn’t tied to a tree, and I wasn’t mincemeat.

“Good j-job Agatha,” I stammered. My teeth wouldn’t stay still. “N-n-nice one!” Agatha didn’t appear. “You can c-c-come out now, Agatha,” I called, “they’ve r-r-run away.”

She didn’t come out. I got to my feet. My legs were like jelly. I took a step, then another one and reached the door. It was still flung right back. “Agatha?” My voice echoed eerily around the dark den. I forced myself to look into the shed but didn’t have a torch, so couldn’t see a thing. “Agatha?” I said it louder this time. The shed door creaked. I broke out in a cold sweat.

Agatha had gone.

I heard a rustling close by.

“What amusement!” I swung round. I couldn’t see a thing but it was Agatha’s voice. “If only girls were permitted to join a travelling theatre show.”

But I still couldn’t see her. “Where are you?” It was dark. It was foggy. I heard light footsteps crunch into the snow. I swung round the other way. “Good job, Agatha.” It was creepy hearing her but not seeing her. “Don’t freak me out. Where are you?”

The rustling sound was right next to me. It was like I was standing next to a tree. Suddenly all the dark branches fell to the ground and there she was: underneath. “Ha-ha!” she laughed. “What fun! I am a yew tree! Or, I was.”

I gaped at her. She was now standing right next to me, close enough for me to see her twitching little button nose. “And I have a trick. I copied it from the travelling players. It is a frightful illusion.” It was! She rolled her eyes right back in her head so all I could see were the whites. “It sent the fear of the devil into them,” she said, bringing her blue eyes back, and flashing a victorious smile at me. “Ghost eyes staring out from a walking tree!”

“That’s a… handy trick,” I said, feeling a bit sick. It looked horrible. It was so gruesome it made
twenty-first
-century tricks seem babyish. “Don’t do it again.”

She pushed the door of the den open and went inside. “Pray they havna spoilt things,” she said and set about making the fire. All I could do was flop down on a stone and watch. She was quick. It only took her about a minute and she had a little fire burning in her tin plate. Then she bustled about the den, sorting the place. She picked up Fred from the corner and brushed him down. She rushed out get her green branches, then brought them in and propped them against the wall. When she had the den cosy again she sat down on the stone opposite me and grinned. “You have majestic talent as a teller of tales,” she said.

“Oh, thanks,” I said. “And you’re a pretty good actor, Agatha.”

“Thank you.” She giggled. “Ladies and gentlemen! Miss Agatha Black, the travelling player from the past!” she chanted in a dramatic voice, as if she was introducing someone famous. “And, the one and only, Master Saul Martin!” She swept her arm out towards me and bowed. “The marvellous teller of grand tales from the future!”

She laughed at that, and so did I. Suddenly, after the scariest night of my life, everything seemed really funny. It was probably the relief, but once I started laughing, I couldn’t stop. I laughed so much I had tears rolling down my face. So did she. My sides ached. My shoulders shook. I didn’t even know what I was laughing at anymore, but it was hilarious, and
we couldn’t stop, and it felt like the best thing in the world.

When I walked home that night in the dark and the fog, I wasn’t one bit frightened, or one whit frightened, as Agatha would say. And later, when I flopped into bed, I imagined Agatha curled up all cosy in my sleeping bag by the fire, hearing mice close by nibbling away on crumbs of bagel. And I knew she wasn’t a whit frightened either.

It was the second last day of school and Mrs Veitch said if we helped her to clear the cupboards and sort through all the felt pens and chuck out the ones that didn’t work anymore, she would show us a film after lunch for a special treat.

Seeing as how I was in her good books now, I sidled up to her in the middle of the pen-sorting job and asked what kind of film it was.

“Oh, a lovely old-fashioned one,” she said. “It’s from a wonderful book by Charles Dickens. You remember? I’ve told you all about him.”

I vaguely remembered but nodded like I knew perfectly. “Anyway,” she went on, “you’ll enjoy it, I’m sure. It’s in black and white.”

“Maybe I could bring my cousin,” I blurted out, thinking it sounded just the kind of thing Agatha would love, and she shouldn’t go back home without seeing a film. If we could ever get her home.

“Randolph all packed then, is he?”

“Yeah,” I mumbled.

“Well, I’m sure we can pull up a chair for your cousin. When he goes back to London, we don’t want him saying us Scots were unfriendly, do we?”

I hurtled over to the den at lunchtime. We feasted on egg sandwiches and biscuits. While Agatha ate, I told her about the film.

She didn’t look too pleased.

“It’s old fashioned,” I said, “like a play, and it won’t be violent or noisy. And it won’t smell.” Of course, I didn’t actually know what it would be like. “It’ll be great fun,” I said, polishing off the last biscuit.

“Will Agnes be there?”

“I suppose so,” I said, trying to remember if she had been at school that morning.

“Her father looked greatly perturbed.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Miss Big Words?”

Agatha laughed. “Unhappy. All jumpy. Fretful. Anx–”

“I get it,” I said. “So, you coming?”

She bit her nail for a moment but in the end I
convinced
her to at least give the film a try. “You can just close your eyes if it frightens you,” I said.

As we ran over the wasteland I tried to explain how films work. Agatha looked baffled. “Sledges I understand,” she said.

“Yeah, well, it takes a bit of getting used to,” I explained, hoping like mad she wasn’t going to scream or faint or burst into tears.

“We’ve reserved the best seat in the house for you, Randolph,” said Mrs Veitch. “Come on up here now. Don’t be shy.” She beckoned for Agatha to sit right at the front.

“He can sit beside me,” I called out. “He doesn’t…”

“Nonsense.” Mrs Veitch sat poor Agatha down and told everyone else to be quiet. I was at the back, watching Agatha glance around, looking for Agnes probably.

The room went dark. A whirring noise started up. It got louder. Numbers flickered on a screen. Violin music blared. A trumpet sounded. The words

A CHRISTMAS CAROL

flashed up onto the screen. Some children cheered. Mrs Veitch told them to settle down.

I was biting my bottom lip so hard I could taste blood. I kept my eyes glued to the back of Agatha’s head. I saw her hands clamp over her ears. I heard her gasp. I could pretty much bet her eyes were shut tight. She sat so rigid I doubt she was even breathing.

For an hour and a half she stayed that way. Mrs Veitch was so glued to the film, I don’t think she noticed. After about ten minutes of me holding my breath and not seeing anything of the film, I started to relax. Agatha wasn’t going to scream. She wasn’t going to fall off her chair. I unclenched my fists, and watched the screen between bursts of checking on Agatha.

I’m a modern boy. I liked the film, even though it was a bit old-fashioned.

In the commotion afterwards, when Mrs Veitch put on the lights and wound up the screen, I grabbed Agatha by the wrist and whisked her out.

“Sorry about that,” I said when we were safely out in the playground.

“Oh, but it was a marvel indeed,” she said. “I did hear the speaking voices. Sometimes I peeped between my fingers and saw the moving pictures. Oh, I am right glad that Mr Scrooge came good in the end. I wept for the lame little Cratchet. Didna you?”

“But, I thought you were totally freaked out by it?”

“I am adapting to the future,” she said, and winked at me. “But pray, tell me, now that Mr Scrooge has given charity to Mr Cratchet, the lame little boy will grow stronger, won’t he? Please, say he will? Oh! I couldna bear it if he weakens and dies. I fear my heart will break.”

“He’ll be ok,” I assured her.

She looked seriously relieved. “Thank heavens.”

Just then Will and Robbie came charging across the playground. “You had your hands over your ears half the time,” Robbie yelled, giving Agatha a high-five. Then he swung round and gave me a high-five. “We heard,” he said, and whistled. “Word’s out you stood up to Crow.”

“Yeah,” said Will. “You’re the best Saul.”

I shrugged and looked at Agatha. “Well, I got some help.” Then Will and Robbie turned their admiring looks onto Agatha.

“I just rolled my eyes,” she said. “Saul was the one who put the fear of God into him.” Then she looked around. “Pray, where is Agnes? Do you know?”

Robbie shook his head.

“She sometimes has to stay at home and look after her granny,” said Will.

Robbie and me stared at him. “How come you know so much?” we asked.

“My granny told me.”

“And where is Agnes’s home?” Agatha asked him.

“Dunno,” Will mumbled, except he looked like he did. “I think maybe they stay in a caravan – er – behind the petrol station.”

Me and Robbie threw each other a look. Everybody in Peebles knew about the caravans behind the petrol station. Even Crow would give them a wide berth. Fancy Agnes living there!

“Let us go then.” Agatha looked eagerly at me, then Robbie, then Will.

The three of us shrugged. We looked at our feet. We scratched our heads. We coughed.

“Ok,” said Will. “Let’s go!”